Faux pas
by Sakura123
Summary: Some things tend to fly over Ressler's head and Meera's pretty sure he doesn't care when they do.


**Title:** Faux pas

**Summary:** Some things tend to fly over Ressler's head and Meera's pretty sure he doesn't care when they do.

**Disclaimer:** The Blacklist and all things related are property of Jon Bokenkamp and NBC.

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People took on a different dimension outside the black site, particularly if those people were often gone before he punched his own clock. He saw them one way, but environment beyond work saw them in another, maybe how they were most comfortable.

Meera stood in front of her car, an old red BMW, hair down, phone pressed to her ear and one hand on the open door. She was smiling, not exactly a rarity, but definitely not something he had the privilege of seeing often.

"…Yeah, no, I think I'll be able to make it," She looked in his direction and waved. The tips of his ears burned, but he kept his gaze forward and on his own car as walked by. "…I love you, too. Bye." He frowned and his eyebrow twitched. His mind began to process the words and he began to speculate.

Donald managed to get a few paces past her before he heard a frustrated sigh and her feet shift. "What are you still doing here?" Her voice lacked the usual frankness. It was softer, painting a completely different picture of her in his head.

Donald turned, taking the question at face value because how else would she mean the question? "Finishing up on a report, you?" He answered. Meera shrugged her shoulders, hair moving with the bounce of her shoulders. "The same, I suppose," She replied. "At least I was."

He nodded, jaw shifting. "Boyfriend?"

"No, my daughter, Indra," She said. "Today is her birthday."

Perceptions were reworked in a heartbeat. Of course she was somebody's mother. Of course she was married with a life beyond her job. Not everyone was him.

The smart thing to say in this situation was "happy birthday, Indra!" Instead he kept staring at her like he was waiting for her reassurance or something. She ducked into the car, gloved hands fumbling with the keys.

"Never figured you were the motherly type," He said as the key slid into the ignition. She turned away from the steering wheel to regard him. Meera's perfectly arched eyebrows raised. "Most people don't. But you know what they say about assumptions," Her work voice was back. He bowed his head slightly, bruised cheeks burning. "My mistake," He said.

"You didn't know. And you wouldn't be the first to make it," She said. "I wasn't around much when she was little—-"

"You don't have to tell me any of this if you don't want to," He interjected, keys switching hands.

"I'm aware, I wanted to, and I was being friendly," Meera replied, eyebrows raised.

Oh. "Well, I hope she has a good birthday," Donald managed as he departed. Meera watched him go. Her brow wrinkled, she sat back in seat for a moment, tongue drawing across her front teeth. Leaning out of the car she gripped the handle of the door. "Ressler," He stopped short of opening the door and looked toward her. "Yeah?"

"Would you like to go out for a coffee some time?" She asked.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, coffee. I suspect they still call it coffee in the states, yeah?"

Donald's eyebrows furrowed. "Y-yeah, but why?"

Now Meera was staring at him like he grew two heads. "Just to talk, get to know each other," She replied forwardly. "It is what normal people do in some cases when they work together."

Donald's expression didn't change. "We're not exactly here to get to know each other, Malik," He said. An awkward silence followed. She coughed, disbelief contorted her features. "Right, of course," Meera rolled her eyes. "What was I thinking?"

"Maybe later?"

"Well, by your admission, that will never happen," Meera flashed him a smile, but it never reached her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Ressler." Donald watched the door close and the engine roar to life. The red BMW rolled out of the parking lot and he frowned after it, not sure what just happened.

At least that's what he told himself.

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**FIN.**


End file.
